Nightmares
by ainemairin
Summary: Wesley has recurring dreams of Fred. What if Illyria was not the cause of Fred's death? What if Fred's soul is still intact? What is preventing her from coming to the surface?
1. Inhuman

_Her smile seemed to radiate through him, like a beam of sunshine through long-suffering darkness. He could not help but grin back, walking towards her slowly, as if in a dream._

_It felt like such a long time since he had seen her, gazed into her deep, chocolate brown eyes. He reached towards her, tracing a hand down her face, another reaching into her wavy hair. _

"_Fred…" he began, her floral scent intoxicating. _

_She put a finger to her lips, motioning silence, "Shh… they'll hear us. We can't be caught." Her voice had a tone of urgency, as her eyes grew wide and scared._

"_What is it, Fred?" Wesley prompted; fear creeping up behind him and seeping slowly into his soul, "what will catch us?"_

"_I'm scared," she cried, grasping his arms tightly. He pulled her close._

"_It's going to be alright"_

"_No…" she pulled away to look him in the eyes, "I told you to tell them I wasn't scared… you know that was a lie!"_

"_No… I'm not losing you again!" Wesley grabbed her again, somehow feeling he could keep her alive through touch. She was so real._

"_It's not Illyria, Wesley… it's something dark… something… I don't know what it is, but something is pulling me away from you," Fred was sobbing now, tears trailing down her cheeks. Wesley would give anything to make them stop, her pain was tearing him apart._

"_Why did we go there? Why did we think we could beat it? It's evil, Wesley. It's bigger than anything."_

"_No, Fred. Nothing can take you from me"_

"_Ever?"_

"_Never. I won't let it"_

_At that moment, a cold darkness spread across them, chilling Wesley to the bone. Fred's tearstained face started to ebb away into nothingness._

"_No…," Wesley murmured, tears drowning his own face, "you can't leave me, I need you… I love you."_

"_Help me," she mouthed, as something dragged her away. Helpless, all Wesley could do was watch, rooted to the spot by an invisible force._

_

* * *

_

"I believe you just confessed your love to me. I repeat my proposition: I wish to take our relationship further." Illyria's white face loomed over him, eyes wide with curiosity. Her shocking electric-blue hair stood out against the dark room around her.

"Get out, Illyria," Wesley grunted, "I did not confess my love to you. I was dreaming."

She tilted her head to the side in a sharp motion, "a dream-like state which holds no power over reality. And yet, the words you spoke rang true. The fervent honour in your voice was evident. It was the shell to which you uttered these words."

"You're not wrong," Wesley replied, rubbing his temple in slow motions, realising he needed an aspirin.

Illyria looked affronted, she straightened her posture and regally looked down at him, "The God-King is never wrong. It hurts me that you would assume this possibility."

Wesley looked at her accusingly, meeting her inhuman eyes unflinchingly, "You can't feel hurt. You can't feel anything human. You know why? Because you're not, you never will be!"

"I understand and agree. I am better than a human."

"You're not better than Fred."

He stood up with a flourish, feeling the world spin around him. Illyria remained silent as he made his way to his desk and fumbled through the drawer for an aspirin. He found some and gulped them down with a glass of whiskey.

"You are wrong, Wesley Wyndam Pryce."

"I'm always wrong," he muttered.

"I can feel. I can feel almost as a human does," she admitted reluctantly, pausing between her words, "I feel anger, pride, pain... and something else. A hole inside of me. Where someone is lost. A part of this shell - a part of me - is gone. But it will never be returned, Wesley."

"I know. But I can always dream."

**-to be continued-**


	2. It's not easy being Blue

"I need you to talk with this Fascar demon," Angel began, "I don't think they're willing to co-operate with us on the no-soul-devouring policy we have now…" he trailed off and nudged Wesley.

Wesley bolted upright, "what? Oh. Sorry, Angel." Removing his glasses, he once again put his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes.

"Are you okay, Wes? You look terrible."

"Bloody awful, if I do say so myself," Spike chipped in as he waltzed into the room, with an air of importance.

"Nobody asked you, Spike. Get out."

"You too, Illyria," mumbled Wesley as he glimpsed her standing in the doorway.

She frowned and turned her head sideways to see his face, "I am concerned. Wesley has been drinking again. And his head is full of nightmares."

Wesley laughed bitterly, "You're _concerned_, are you, Illyria?" he turned to look at her, but found it decidedly painful.

"Hey, be easy on the bluebird," Spike cut in, "she's just tryin' to help."

"I realize my mistake. Helping is futile. I will not try again," Illyria turned and glided out of the room with unnatural grace.

Spike threw his hands up in exasperation, "Now look what you've done."

Angel raised an eyebrow, "you don't really care, Spike."

Spike dropped his concerned façade, "you're right. I don't give a fig." He sauntered out of the office.

Spike could be heard arguing with Harmony over the use of reception's computer, and eventually there was silence. Angel opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted once again by Spike's intermittent voice.

"Oi! Facebook… Stop shrinking the bleedin' text! I might have vamp eyesight, but it still blurs when you're sodding drunk!"

Angel slammed the door, glaring through it like it was Spike's face and he was about to send a fist flying through it. Calming his composure, he turned at last to Wesley, "tell me what's on your mind, Wes."

He removed his hand from his temple and looked Angel in the eye, his lips trying to form the right words. At last he said, "I'm not… coping, Angel." He felt tears threatening to fall from his eyes, "ever since Fred… I can't think of anything else. Nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing is worth it…"

Angel grimaced, and moved closer with his arms folded across his chest, "Well you've gotta make things worth it. The Wesley I knew would never give up like this. You agreed to help Illyria, to do what's right. That's what you always do, no matter what the cost."

Wesley slowly turned his face away, "I can't bear to look at Illyria. It's not working"

"Make it work." Angel said, with something close to a growl, "or you're fired."

Wesley looked at Angel after a moment's silence, "what?"

"You heard me. I can't afford to have an important role like yours filled by a man who's just as much a shell as the woman he's grieving. You're not completing the mission. You're not helping the helpless, or doing what's right. You're not even living."

Wesley got to his feet rather unsteadily, feeling the effects of his hangover much too potently. He reached to the wooden desk for support, watching his hand as it tremored ceaselessly, the way it always did nowadays.

"I want you back on the team, Wes. But this... this isn't helping. I know you're grieving, we all are. But it's been two months now. You have to move on."

Wesley knew this was impossible, but he forced a smile to his lips and bravely looked Angel in the eye, "I will. I am. Moving, that is."

"Don't lie to me," Angel replied, returning his steadfast look, "I want you to take a week off. When you come back, you better be healed." He turned on his heel, his black coat swishing around his legs like water. The door opened and closed as he left.

Wesley stood alone again.

A sliver of light revealed a shadow, and Wesley looked up to the door, where Angel poked his head through.

"You know, I was kinda hoping for a dramatic exit, to um, prove my point...," Angel scratched his head, "but this is my office." He stood inside and held the door out for Wesley.

"There you go, I'll see you in a week."

* * *

Illyria stormed through the hall, bright blue hair like the sky contrasting with the pale sand-coloured walls around her. She muttered under her breath, "I would sooner see his bloody limbs decapitated by my own hands, lying at my feet..."

"Hey, Illyria," Lorne chirped in greeting as he passed her, "I guess It's Not Easy Being blue, either, by the sounds of it."

Illyria's eyes widened in a death stare as he looked upon him, "I have neither time or patience for your irreverant prattling."

Lorne expression changed to one of mock upset, "Maybe Wesley could stand you more if you learned to be nice once in a while."

Illyria tilted her head, "What is this 'nice' you speak of?"

Lorne continued, amused, "It's like... being kind, considerate. Fred was nice."

Illyria looked interested, "tell me more. I command you."

Lorne shrugged, "Just... think about what you say before you say things. Sometimes - sorry, honey - your blunt arrogance gets in the way of the sugary sweet Shirley Temple you could be"

"I have no wish to change my revered status. If I began to be 'nice', the respect humans hold for the God King would dim like an ember in a dying fire." She turned to leave.

"I don't know where you've been living, but no-one around here reveres you, Illyria. I'm sorry, but you're practically human now. You may as well learn to live with them harmoniously, like the beautiful consonance in the chords of a harp." Lorne's smile was large as he studied her conflicted expression.

"I do not appreciate your analogies. But I will consider your thoughts on this matter." Illyria straightened and continued her advance down the hall, and Lorne set off in the opposite direction, humming showtunes.

**-to be continued-**


End file.
